The Gallant Trio
by xmagic.siriusx
Summary: Two friends set out on a quest for adventure and respect that will bring back a priceless object to its rightful home. Meanwhile, a hair maid is determined to make Wartpaw pay for the slaughter of her patrol. Rated T for moderate violence throughout.
1. Runaways

Disclaimer: I do not own Redwall this is the brilliant invention of Brian Jaques, however, i do own most of the characters in this book (they are my own creation)

Hope you like, this is my first fanfic that i have written by myself (i have writen others with my friend Angel2510check out her fics). Please R&R.

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The sun beat down mercilessly on the friend's necks as they strode onwards along the dusty path leading from Redwall to the high mountains far beyond the horizon. Their tongues lolled about in their parched mouths and their canvas backpacks bumped in rhythm to every step they took.

From a large oak tree at the side of the road a small robin sat, in the cool of its large leaves, watching the pair pass by. He twittered to himself happily, what a pair of buffoons they looked, no creature in their right minds would set out on the hottest day of the year. Not even the piteous rodents that had passed by earlier walked that path. They had taken to Mossflower woods and although the going was slightly tougher, at least the glaring heat would not frazzle them.

However, the pair; a brawny otter and a small rotund mole; has their reasons for taking to this route. They had heard of the vermin abroad in Mossflower and calculated that no beast would be likely to tread this very road. They would most likely delve deep into the woodland to claim the cool sweet air and shade.

They were on a mission, a real mission. The pair had been travelling since dawn; just as the first glimpses of sunrays had risen over the horizon they had slipped out onto the road via the west wicker gate to escape. The night before they had both decided that they were no longer to be _nuisances_ to the abbey, as sister sage had named them earlier that day. They would teach those prissy elders they thought and fight that dastardly gang of vermin who had so wrongly stolen the sword of Martin, the one of the most precious and sentimental items that the abbey dwellers held close to their heart.

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Short chapter I know but the next is much longer, promise). To be continued...


	2. The Last Recruit

Far away on the east shore a limp and sodden bundle hauled itself up the white sands. It held a small rusty dagger that it would bare to any venturesome bird that came too close. It wore a ripped emerald green tunic held by an old cracked leather belt. But the most wondrous object hung from its neck – a gold, inscribed medallion that could have only been made by one species, Badgers.

A great Gull swooped ready to dive when a little round stone came whizzing from the cliffs in front of it. It struck the bird right twixt its beady yellow eyes and sent the creature spinning wildly to its death onto the rocky outcrop just above the tide line.

A large figure dashed down from the cliff tops to the creature's side. Its muscular arms lifted the beast up from the sands, slung them across their shoulders and made for the cliffs.

"What do we have here Rog, you haven't been fishing again have you. I've been cooking all day and I still don't have room to store all that shrimp you brought me yesterday. Filled up the larder already, and the cellar, you'll just have to let the blasted shrimp go. No more, I say no more."

"Alright, alright, leave off. I ain't brought food! I think I took all the shrimp from the oceans in that catch that I caught yesterday." He carefully lay the animal down onto a rush mat near the entrance of the cave. "I found this poor beast lying on the shore, near eaten by one of those pesky seabirds, but I finished him off good and well, for sure I did."

An old grizzled otter left off stirring the large pot over the fire and came to inspect the new arrival. It prodded and poked it and turned it over until the creature gave a loud moan and sat up straight.

"Can't you see this bod is trying to sleep, no consideration nowadays." All the occupants of the room were startled, one minute the animal looked dead and the other it was arguing away as like there was no tomorrow.

"I'm Rog, and this is my dwelling, and who do we ave the pleasure of meting?" Asked the otter.

"Laurel Penelope Bentinforth at your service, hare extraordinaire. Come from the mountain Salamandastron you know. Top fighting material an all, wat wat."

A bowl of steaming stew was placed in front of the youngster along with a hefty tankard of the otter's finest nettle and leak ale.

"Here get this down your neck, then once you've finished you can tell us the story of how you came just inches away from being a gull's breakfast." And with a nod from Rog she set upon it with the gust of one facing a five-year famine.

When the bowl had been cleared and the tankard drained, which was in a matter of seconds, she wiped the residue of the stew from her whiskers and lent back against the rock wall and began the story.

"…So after the vermin had breached the camp entrance, they started surrounding us. There was only a fifteen left including me as the sentries had been slaughtered as they tried to rose the patrol and next all four score were rushing us, each armed to the teeth and ready to slay, wat. So I says to meself, 'Laurel Penelope Bentinforth, get a grip. Now we cant let a fatal beauty get stabbed by these cowardly blighters.' So I pulled out my dirk and charged forward with the heat of battle. Alas, it was not to be, one of those varmints crept up behind me and knocked me out cold with me own saucepan I had left with my packs.

"Of course, after the battle was over I luckily came round and found myself held captive, strung up by my ankles to a branch I was. So what did I do you may ask. Well you may not know this, but hares have exceedingly powerful hind legs; so I kicked roughly a few times and the vines that those slobby vermin had tied me up with came loose. Suddenly dropped to the ground like a stone, wat wat. So I was free and I ran for miles and absoballylutely miles wily nily round the scrubland, doesn't do a bod any good being dropped on her noodle you know.

"Anyway, finally I managed to acquire a craft thanks to two very _helpful_ sea rats and tried to make my way home. However, one night a terrible storm hit my little boat and she was broken to splinters leaving me fighting for my life against the towering rollers and cavernous troughs. I lost all sense of direction and time as I clung to a spar of wood from my now nonexistent vessel and finally here I am, in your company waiting to be served some more of that delicious stew." And with that she thrust her bowl and tankard at Rog.

"You're a sly one," said Rog as he began to ladle out more of the warming broth for the hair maid. "So what became of your patrol?"

"Dead I spose, hazard of the job you know, wat wat. But all in all they were a good old bunch of jolly chaps, they would have wanted to go down fighting." Laurel replied sniffing and wiping away a tear. "But if it's the last thing I do, I will give my friends justice. I will kill every last one of those vermin."


End file.
